A Reason To Be Thankful
by AngryLittlePrincess53
Summary: "Of course I was at home, alone, on Thanksgiving. Where else would I be? I had no boyfriend, I'm no longer allowed to go into work on holidays (something about working too much. Psh, please.), and my family isn't exactly the friendliest. So here I was, Teresa Lisbon, on my couch eating ice cream and watching re-runs of Castle." Jane comes over for a thanksgiving to remember. Jisbon


A Reason to be Thankful  
_A/N: Hey! This is my first Mentalist story, so I apologize in advanced for any OOC-ness. Anyway, I have no BETA reader, so I also apologize for any spellin/grammar mistakes. Please R&R, I want feedback so I can get better! :)_

_Disclaimer: If I owned The Mentalist, Jane and Lisbon would be married with kids right now. _

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Of course I was at home, alone, on Thanksgiving. Where else would I be? I had no boyfriend, I'm no longer allowed to go into work on holidays (something about working too much. Psh, please.), and my family isn't exactly the friendliest. So here I was, Teresa Lisbon, on my couch eating ice cream and watching re-runs of Castle. I know I should love these days when there's no work to be done, no annoying people to be dealt with, but I honestly hate it. I feel useless and depressed; I always say that I like being alone, but that's a lie. I love feeling needed, and I love being around people. I stare at my television screen with little interest; Beckett's just tackled someone and Castle's watching her from the background. It strikes me how similar Beckett and Castle's relationship is to mine and Jane's. I'm always running around catching the bad guys, and Jane tags along for support... Or to agitate me. It doesn't matter what he does though, he's still mine.  
"No!" I chide myself out loud, my voice echoing in my empty house. He's not mine, he's no one's. But I realize how much I wish I **could** say that he belonged to me; that he belonged **with** me. I shake my head, when did I start feeling this way about Jane? My doorbell rings while I try to figure out exactly when my feelings toward my consultant changed. As I walk to the door, I turn on some lights in my apartment; I don't want people to think I'm a weirdo that sits around in the dark. I open my front door and, speak of the devil, there's Jane.  
"Hey Lisbon, how did I know you'd be at home?" he teases lightly with a wink, "May I come in?" I step aside and I suddenly become aware that I'm wearing only my Bears jersey. I blush when I realize that Jane has taken notice of my attire as well.  
"I should probably change..." I say, already moving toward my bedroom.  
"No!" Jane exclaims. I look at him with wide eyes of surprise. "I mean, you don't **have** to. It doesn't make me uncomfortable..." he trails off his sentence and I smirk.  
"Alright then; I guess I'm not going to change." I laugh a little when Jane's face lights up.  
"Great! I mean, yeah, cool. Anyway, aren't you wondering what's in the bags?" I honesty wasn't, I didn't even realize he had brought anything with him. In his hands, he has 3 grocery bags.  
"What's in them?" Jane grins mischievously.  
"Guess." He says, laughing.  
"Hmmm..." I play along with Jane's little guessing game, "Cats?" Jane laughs.  
"No, guess again." I pretend to think it over for a minute.  
"Maybe... Food?" Jane and I both laugh quick, sharp laughs.  
"Right you are!" He pulls out potatoes, yams, stuffing, broccoli, cranberries, and a huge turkey.  
"Jane..." I start to say, trying to let him down easy.  
"C'mon Lisbon! It's thanksgiving, you were home alone, I was... alone; I thought it would be fun! Have our own little thanksgiving right here!" I sigh, looking at Jane and his puppy dog eyes. I have to admit, it's a good idea. Obviously, Jane didn't want to spend the holiday alone, and I don't want him to. "Of course Jane; It's a great idea." I say, looking through my kitchen cabinets for a pot to make the potatoes in.  
"Great! You know, I make a mean yam sauce." Jane says, becoming very invested in this dinner.  
"I've never heard of yam sauce." I say, "When I was little, my mom was obsessed with cranberries. She made the best cranberry sauce in Chicago; she taught me the recipe." I say, finally finding a pot big enough to put the mashed potatoes in. I suddenly feel an arm wrap around my waist. I turn my head to look up at Jane.  
"I would love to try your mom's cranberry sauce." he says quietly, kindly. I nod, reaching for the cranberries he brought with him.  
"Don't blame me if you gain 10 pounds today." I say laughing. He laughs too, going back over to the yams he was preparing. I begin to think that this might not be the worst thanksgiving ever.

When I finally finish preparing the cranberry sauce, I put it in the refrigerator so it will be cold when we take it out; just like mom taught me. I then move on to the mashed potatoes. Now, coming from the city, I never really had to make mashed potatoes from scratch. In my family, instant mashed potatoes were a staple. So, with 10 potatoes lined up in front of me, I begin to, well, mash them. Obviously, I wasn't supposed to smash them with a hammer, because Jane's eyes went wide in fear at the sight of this. He stopped me just in time.  
"Here," he said sweetly, "Let me show you." he gets a knife out of one of my cabinet drawers and hands it to me. How he knows where my kitchen supplies are, I'll never be able to say.  
"First, cut each potato into eighths." he wraps his hand around mind, guiding me. Once I've diced every potato, he let's go of my hand, though I wish he wouldn't.  
"Then, we put them in the pot." he says, while gathering up some of the potato chunks we've made. I take some too, and we dump them into our pot of boiling water.  
"Now, we wait. It'll take about half an hour. We should probably check on the turkey." he says. I didn't even see him put the turkey in the oven, but I guess he's just that fast. He bends down, opening my rarely used oven.  
_"Don't look at his butt Teresa. Don't."_ I say in my head, trying to stop myself, but to no avail. I try not to giggle like a schoolgirl, but he is very attractive from behind.  
"Well, it looks fine right now." he says, standing back up. I blush wildly of course, my Irish skin never lets me be discreet about me embarrassment. Jane obviously catching the bright red color of my cheeks, but chooses not to comment. For that, I am grateful.  
"So, what else is there to be done?" I ask, trying to fill the time with something other than awkward tension.  
"The broccoli needs to be cooked." Jane says, still finishing his yam sauce.  
"I'll take care of that!" I say, eager to feel useful. I'm really starting to get this whole 'cooking' thing down.

An hour later, and everything is done. The mashed potatoes are a little dry, and the turkey's kind of burnt (that's a whole other story), but everything else is wonderful. I set the table, while Jane lights the candles. I don't remember candle lighting being a thanksgiving tradition though...  
"There." I say once I've put down the last plate of food. Jane holds onto me from behind, sending chills down my spine.  
"Perfect." he whispers. That simple word makes my body feel numb. I break away from Jane; desperate to stay in his arms, but eager to eat the delicious food we've prepared. Jane and I sit on opposite ends of the table, reaching our hands over to say grace. We mumble our thanks, both of us too focused on our physical contact to really put any thought into our prayers. When we finish, we dig into the food. I generally don't eat that much, but this is probably the best thanksgiving meal I've ever had.  
"This cranberry sauce is amazing!" Jane moans. I laugh, happy from his delight.  
"Thank you. And may I say, these mashed potatoes are much better than they would have been if I'd squashed them with my hammer." We both laugh hysterically at this, and it feels like a real thanksgiving. There may only be two of us, and we may only be eating a limited selection of food, but this is as good as it gets. Lost in my thoughts, I'm startled when I feel a hand take mine. I look up, and see Jane looking at me intently.  
"Thank you Teresa." he says. And with that, he leans over the table, and kisses me on the cheek. It's not as exciting as a real kiss, but it makes my heart nearly explode with joy.  
"You're welcome Patrick." That simple kiss on the cheek gave me something I hadn't had in a long time; it gave me a reason to be thankful.


End file.
